August 7
The continuing chronicles of Sleepless Dave: Last night, sleep was better until the nightmare started. It started innocently enough when two houseguests began to argue. Then another guest, leaving the “party,” got in his truck and pulled his trailer into my garage, and instead of stopping with the crash, kept trying to power through. This escalated into a fist fight before one of his friends came at me with a blowtorch, and it kept getting worse from there. The usual dream logic applies: it wasn’t my house, but it was my house, and the friends of friends were complete unknown to me. Yeesh.
I could hear cars on the track starting at 8. It’s the DTM cars running on the GP circuit.
I chatted with a couple of Dutch motorcyclists outside the hotel while waiting for Ryan and Laura. I asked if they were there to do laps. They told me bikes are no longer allowed and were sad they didn’t do it before the ban. They also said it was nearly as much fun riding the back roads here in the Eiffel mountains. True, from what I saw on the way here yesterday and on the way back to Brussels today, there is an abundance of Lotus roads in the area.
I’m not sure how we got there, but the topic of history came up. I don’t recall their exact words, but the gist of it was that Europe is rich in history, and America isn’t. It’s certainly true that, wherever I went in Brussels, I found “history”: old buildings, museums, war memorials, the Stolpersteine paving stones remembering Holocaust victims, statues of Kings, and on and on. But it’s also true there’s “history” in America. What we don’t have is millennia of European history. Spaniards built a church in the San Luis Valley at the end of the 16th Century. The cliff dwellings in Mesa Verde had been abandoned for a couple of centuries before the foundation was laid for the ruins of the castle above us. And, frankly, the vast majority of European history is about war and subjugation. We don’t have any Stolpersteine paving stones in Denver. But I digress.
Spa is pretty much halfway between the ‘Ring and Brussels; we used many of the same roads today as on the way here – back roads until near Spa, then expressway the rest of the way to Brussels.
Culture shock: the rest stops on the expressway have pay toilets.
Back in Brussels, Ryan wanted to try a lambic beer. He had a recommendation from one of his clients, but that brewery was closed. We tried another, same result. We ended up near the central square. We tried a white lambic – a bit fruity, a bit sour. I liked it more than Ryan did. But then, he’s not much of a beer drinker.
After they dropped me off at my hotel, I wandered in search of food for dinner and chocolates to take home. Success on both fronts.
I’m ready to go home.
August 8
I left my hotel at 8, thinking I had plenty of time to get to the airport. I walked to the bakery where I bought the delicious raspberry a few days ago, but they didn’t have any today. I “settled” for a couple of chocolate pastries. Then I walked to the bus to the airport.
The airport looked pretty busy. At the bag check, I asked a security guy if this was normal traffic. He said it was, but that some of the computers were down. Life in the modern world, eh? The line through security was pretty long, but I wasn’t worried because I had plenty of time.
On the other side of security, I found myself facing another long line. This was for passport control. They had a line monitor at the end of it, directing folks to the proper line. I didn’t notice there was more than one: the long one was for EU residents. All others were directed to a shorter line. Well, it looked to be shorter, but that was an illusion. I got to chatting with an American in line in front of me who was on the same flight as me. A frequent international traveller, he expressed concern or surprise that the passport people weren’t scanning documents – it was just a visual inspection.
After quite a while in this line, somebody came and made an announcement, whereupon a bunch of people left our line and went to a different line. Something about UK and US passports. After another announcement, closer to us this time, we found we were being directed to a different line. Just as we were getting to the front!
I guess this is where the computer issue was. In our new line, when we got to the front, we scanned our passports, which opened a gate. Next, we stood in front of a camera for a photo, and another gate opened. Successfully navigating this, we got our passports stamped. Finally, I headed to the gate, where I only had to wait a few minutes before boarding started. So much for having plenty of time. I could at last eat my tasty pastry.
The flight from BRU to IAD took off at 11 am. They did a meal service (I had a choice this time, not being in the last row this time), then turned off the cabin lights and had everybody shut their window shades. Nap time, everybody! It being not long after noon, I wasn’t sleepy. I tried reading, but my reading light was like a beacon in the dark, and I didn’t want to annoy my neighbors, so I played a couple of the computer games in the headrest of the seat in front of me.
Customs in the USA was a much different experience than in Europe. First was a passport check. All I was asked was whether I’d bought any expensive gifts. I misspoke: I said “Nothing more than 30€,” but I wasn’t thinking of the 45€ of chocolate I bought yesterday. Next, we claimed our checked bags by picking them up off one conveyor and putting them on another one a few yards down the hall. Presumably, if I’d been chosen for a search, they’d have flagged my bag. I saw no searches going on, so if there were any, they were in a separate room.
In this area, there are monitors on the walls. On these monitors, a succession of messages was displayed. They were all in English, and they all had what I took as a threatening tone. Each one said, “Do this and face prosecution!” or “Don’t do this and face prosecution!” Everything in the messages was common sense – yeah, you might go to jail if you assault a customs official. You might go to jail for assaulting anyone, though, right? It all seems very … unwelcoming.
The flight from IAD to DEN was run-of-the-mill. Again, I watched the flight map. It helpfully displays points of interest – cities, towns, mountains. Of all the mountains they have to choose from in Colorado – Pikes Peak, Longs Peak, the Maroon Bells – they chose Porcupine Hill. I’d never heard of it. It’s barely over 10,000′ high. Bizarre.
Not long after getting home, I sat at my desk to make some notes. It felt like I was still on the plane – my body had the sensation of the motion of the airplane cabin. I guess twelve and a half hours sitting in a metal tube will mess with your senses a bit.
